My PD's Name Is What?
by dcat8888
Summary: Some scenes to fill in Rolling Thunder and A Chip Off The Old Milt.


My PD's Name Is What?

by dcat

The characters of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me.

Fly Like An Eagle was written and is performed by the Steve Miller Band.

The time period runs from the episodes of 'A Chip Off The Old Milt' to 'Rolling Thunder' as well as a look back into Mark's early life.

OOOOO

It was the best drive home he'd ever made. The Coyote was loaded to the brim with a life's worth of living. And even though he was 32 years old, it was really only the last three that seemed to really matter. The radio blasted. He smiled broadly. This song always got to him...

_Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future._

OOOOO

This was much more than a cold streak, this was the frigid Alaskan pipeline.

Sitting confined inside a holding tank at the Los Angeles County Jail, Mark McCormick peered around his dismal settings. There wasn't much that could make an already rotten situation worse.

Since it was still early morning and the holding cell had been cleared of the previous days offenders at 7am, he and one other man were the only new daily tenants at this hour. It didn't really matter that anyone had bothered to empty the people out, the cell was never cleaned out or disinfected, so it still carried a disgusting odor, make that odors, from last night's and probably a thousand prior nights, choice clientele. Besides the normal, overactive male sweat gland odor, there was smell coming from the commode, and there was something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on, not that he wanted to, but whatever it was, if he let it get to him for too much longer, he'd for sure need to use the commode to add in yet another putrid smell.

He got up and went to stand by the cell door, hoping maybe he'd get a whiff of something slightly more pleasant from the hallway. It helped briefly. His cellmate must have thought the same thing because in just a few minutes, he got up from the bunk he was lying in and came to stand next to McCormick.

"Something's really nasty in here huh?" The unknown alleged criminal said to him.

"Yeah, I thought the air might be better over here, but it's not really working," McCormick added.

"We should tell a guard, maybe they can douse it."

"Yeah, we could." McCormick answered stoically and made no further statement or movement.

The other man was frustrated by Mark's lack of enthusiasm in trying to get help from a guard, so he turned and went back to the bunk and laid back down.

McCormick had way too much time on his hands right at the present. Too much time for thinking about everything that had happened over the last several weeks. He was amazed at what had transpired in his crazy life. The last good thing that happened was when he shared a glass of wine and a toast with Flip for the chance at a new beginning. Now, Flip was dead and he'd just gone off and did something really stupid. He stole a car.

He didn't know how long he stood at the doorway of the cell, but at some point a guard came up to him to deliver some information.

"McCormick, your defender's a guy named Steve Miller." And he walked away.

Mark shrugged and gave a nod, he'd been daydreaming about Flip and Barbara and it took a few seconds for the name of his assigned public defender to sink in.

Steve Miller.

_Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future._

Mark chuckled out loud and spun around in the cell. His roommate gave him a glare when he laughed, apparently it had woken him up. "Sorry," McCormick whispered.

Steve Miller, boy did that ever take him back in time.

1976, The Steve Miller Band, Fly Like An Eagle, perhaps the greatest album of all time. McCormick was 21 in 1976 and Steve Miller was virtually at the top of his musical career.

He actually started to hum the song.

If only his public defender could be as cool as the actual Steve Miller.

It was Florida and he and a buddy had actually managed to score tickets to a Steve Miller Concert in Tampa. It didn't matter that they were over 300 miles away from Tampa at the time, between him and his buddy, they'd dig up some sort of car and make the road trip. It was the Steve Miller Band and they had 3rd row, on the field, seats.

It'd take an act of God to keep either one of them from seeing that show.

An act of God wasn't necessary, all that was needed was a 90mph act of stupidity on his part to keep him from the "Fly Like An Eagle" tour.

He got a call two days before the concert from a guy he'd done some work for about a year earlier. The guy needed him to go to Georgia and repo a '66 Corvette. He told McCormick he'd give him $500 cash upfront and another $1,000 on delivery if he could make it happen the following day. $1,500 was a ton of money to McCormick. The guy had one stipulation, don't ask any questions.

$1,500 was too much money to turn down.

Unfortunately, getting caught by Georgia State Police, while driving someone else's car and going 90mph in a 55 was something he wished he could have turned down. It was that song on the radio that played, while he ventured down the two-lane. He couldn't help but push the accelerator down harder. It was a '66 Corvette and Steve Miller.

_I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free_

Yeah, real free._  
_

They held him for three days on the charge of Grand Theft Auto, until they could reach the man with the $1,500 to corroborate McCormick's story of repossession.

He missed the concert.

He lost out on the extra $1,000, since he was unable to deliver the car on time.

And he still had the little matter of yet another speeding ticket, this one was for $485.

The $15 dollars he 'made' didn't even cover a quarter of the price of the 3rd row ticket he'd been unable to use.

_Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future._

The sad thing about the whole situation was that since 1976, Mark McCormick's life continued on in much the same fashion. Today, in the holding cell, it was no different. Here he was once again, getting busted for repo'ing a car. He couldn't help but wonder if things would ever really change for him.

Maybe it was all Steve Miller's fault.

OOOOO

Judge Milton C. Hardcastle was in his chambers at exactly 7:30am. On his desk lay files of what would be the day's court docket. Hearings were scheduled to begin at 9:30am, so that gave him a good two hours to start sifting through the information before him.

First up though, he decided to read the morning paper that his clerk had brought him. He flicked on the tiny transistor radio he had in his office, hoping to hear any late breaking news, but all he got was some sort of music blasting out. His usual, reliable station, KTTO, must have changed their format.

_I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free  
Oh, Lord, through the revolution_

"Oh Lord is right," Milt grumbled as he fiddled with the dial in an attempt to find another station to substitute. "Fly like an eagle through the revolution, what kind of crap is that? No wonder these young people are so messed up nowadays. What the hell does that mean? The only revolution is going on inside their own heads." Hardcastle finally was frustrated enough that he stubbornly turned the radio completely off and even spun around in his chair and put the offending transistor out of view on the credenza behind him. "I'll just read the paper and get busy," he mumbled.

At 9:17am, he pushed aside the file for Dorian Phillips and grabbed for the next file in the stack. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he had two more files to peruse before the first hearing.

Mark McCormick's file was next in line. He'd seen McCormick in person just about a week ago at his parole officer's office. McCormick was keeping his nose clean at the time, reporting in on time and not causing any trouble. "What'd ya do now McCormick?" He asked out loud as he started to read the latest charges.

His brilliant legal mind began to run on double time as he read through the latest police report, "Stealing cars again huh? I would have thought two years would have taught you a lesson McCormick," he commented. He sat back in his chair and though about how he could somehow make this work for both McCormick and for his 'retirement' idea he'd been concocting for himself.

It would work, the only volatile component was McCormick himself.

_Oh, Lord, through the revolution…_

OOOOO

McCormick's initial hearing was scheduled for 2:30pm. As he was led out of the holding cell and into a changing room, he took the first real deep breath of fresh air that he'd had all day. It wasn't entirely cleansing, but his lungs and olfactory sense certainly appreciated it. He was given a dress shirt and slacks, sport coat and tie to put on. Surprisingly, the clothes actually fit him and even more amazing, they were clean too. He was instructed to wait in the room and an officer would come to get him.

Court was running late. The clock on the wall read 3:03pm. He still hadn't met this Steve Miller guy, the man who was supposed to help him beat this latest charge of GTA. How could someone who didn't know anything about you defend you? McCormick could feel the defensive, smart aleck persona of his growing deep inside his gut and he was ready to unleash the beast. He'd save it for the donkey Judge though. He already knew that Hardcase was sitting on today's bench and that came with its own set of unique circumstances.

Six months had gone by since his release from San Quentin and this crazy donkey had been riding his tail the entire time. When he saw him outside of Dahlem's office, Hardcase had said that 'he was looking out for him.' What the hell did that mean? Did this nut just want to keep throwing him back in prison? Was he some sort of weirdo judge that got his kicks from sentencing people? There was no possible way that Hardcastle would ever want to actually 'look out' for him in a good way. No one ever did that.

_Feed the babies  
Who don't have enough to eat  
Shoe the children  
With no shoes on their feet  
House the people  
Livin' in the street  
Oh, oh, there's a solution_

The door opened and in walked the anti-Steve Miller Steve Miller.

McCormick's mouth dropped open in utter sarcastic awe and he heard the lyrics again.

_Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future._

OOOOO

Hardcastle was back in chambers jotting down a few notes on Dorian Phillips. When he finally closed the Phillips file, he reached and plucked Mark McCormick's once again. Checking his watch he saw that it was after 3pm already. He was more than familiar with this slick, good looking kid and his car stealing prowess. He knew McCormick's file backwards and forwards and he'd even taken the time to obtain his juvenile records.

This was going to be like going fishing. He'd need to bait his hook just right in order to land the catch he wanted.

_Oh, oh, there's a solution_

OOOOO

"I'm, um, I'm Steve Miller, I've been assigned to be your public defender today," the mousey, 12-year-old-looking attorney began.

McCormick wondered if he had actually graduated from law school or if he'd somehow managed to get his degree in a box of Cracker Jack's. Why did guys like this get all the breaks? In a moment of immense self-restraint, he didn't say anything, no smart comment, no sarcastic question, he somehow knew it wouldn't do any good anyway. No, he'd save his histrionic outburst for the Judge.

Today's Steve Miller didn't even bother to offer his hand in introduction.

It didn't matter, in walked the court officer to tell the two of them that the hearing was going to begin. They went out the opposite door, which opened into the courtroom and the officer led them to their table.

In less than ten seconds, they were asked to rise as Judge Hardcastle came into the room.

Mark McCormick stood up and thought he was taking the last possible breath of fresh air as a somewhat free man. His brain told him that Hardcase was going to send him away for a very long time.

_I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free  
Oh, Lord, through the revolution_

OOOOO

It was the best drive home he'd ever made. The Coyote was loaded to the brim with a life's worth of living. And even though he was 32 years old, it was really only the last three that seemed to really matter. The radio blasted. He smiled broadly. This song always got to him.

Steve Miller Band, 1976, Fly Like An Eagle.

He turned it up even louder, as he accelerated past the gate and up the well worn drive.

He was glad the Judge finally knew about him going to law school. It was like a weight off his shoulders. Of course, the circumstances surrounding the 'revelation' could have been different, but Hardcastle had always known all along that nothing was ever easy when McCormick was involved.

_Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future._

He pulled the Coyote right up to the front and sat and listened to the rest of the song, never noticing that the Judge had come out from the house and up to the side of the car. In an unusual move for Hardcastle, he hung back and waited quietly and patiently for the song to end, as if he was enjoying it too.

When the song ended, Hardcastle took a step closer and chimed in, "Thought maybe you were having some sort of private concert there. Think it was loud enough?"

McCormick triggered the door open and slid out. He smiled at Milt and even went so far as to playfully put his arm across his back, giving it a warm tap. "Judge, someday I need to introduce you to Steve Miller."

"Yeah, yeah, we've already met. That little twerp was quite possibly the worst public defender in the history of public defenders. It's really too bad you got saddled with him."

Mark laughed and pulled his hand back. "That's not the Steve Miller I meant Judge. You really need to turn off the Dixieland and expand your musical horizons before you die."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes, "You mean the Steve Miller _Band_? Yeah, I'm familiar with their work. I like that song too." He pointed toward the Coyote as if it had the band inside. "For the longest time I didn't quite understand it."

McCormick was taken aback by the Judge's admission and he admitted the same thing himself. "Me too," he dropped his head down for a moment and then lifted it to eye up the Judge, "But maybe that's the beauty of it, things take on new meaning."

"Yep," was Milt's simple reply. "Is this the last trip?"

Mark nodded, "Yeah, I'm home."

OOOOO

Fly Like An Eagle

The Steve Miller Band

_Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future  
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future_

I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free  
Oh, Lord, through the revolution

Feed the babies  
Who don't have enough to eat  
Shoe the children  
With no shoes on their feet  
House the people  
Livin' in the street  
Oh, oh, there's a solution

I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free  
Fly through the revolution

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future  
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin Into the future  
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future  
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future

I want to fly like an eagle  
To the sea  
Fly like an eagle  
Let my spirit carry me  
I want to fly like an eagle  
Till I'm free  
Fly through the revolution

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future  
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future

OOOOO

In the fall of 1977, I was a freshman at a Catholic High School. In our religion class, we were asked to take a contemporary song and relate it to our religious beliefs. The song I chose was Steve Miller's, Fly Like An Eagle. I don't remember much of what I wrote, but I know the gist of it was Eagles/spirit, poverty and God being the solution. I've always liked the song since.

So as I pulled out Rolling Thunder to watch, per the Yahoo discussion, I, like McCormick in the story, was hit with the name Steve Miller (the public defender) and it conjured up some memories of my own.

Coincidentally, my teacher for freshman religion: Mr. Miller. Yes, ironic but true, his first name though was Bob, and he's no relation to either the Steve Miller or the PD Steve Miller.


End file.
